If It Hurts
by Angsty Glowstick
Summary: His salvation came with the realization that he must accept the pain, and it gave him all of the patience and strength he needed to pull through. TORTURE FIC/DEPRESSING.


**If It Hurts**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Yuri or any other characters, settings, storylines, or material related to Beyblade. This is pure fanfiction. Sincerely, a dedicated fan.

**Warnings: **depressing material, violent scenes, and disturbing descriptions. Also sadism. Mild, in my opinion, but I'm sure things don't get measured according to my opinion.

**Notes:**Don't I looove this. Love what? Read and find out. I will not be held accountable for any depression resulting from this ficlet. I do enjoy torturing the characters I love! Muahahaha! On a more serious note, this is just an exploration of a possible mad situation. Moving on.

One more thing: cookies to those of you who can guess who the sadistic man is. If a certain loathed character immediately jumps to mind, follow your intuition. The tormented character will be revealed later on.

**YURIYURIYURI **

There was the sick squelching sound of a whip tearing apart barely healed wounds.

He whimpered, and clamped his teeth down on his bottom lip to stop himself from fully crying out.

The whip came again, and again. The third time drew blood from his lips. But the tiny stream of blood was nothing compared to his lashed back weeping red. He closed his eyes. No matter how much he wished for it to end, it continued.

Now his body convulsed, restricted by the cutting metal of his chains. He whined in pain with gritted teeth; it was a long, pitiful sound that only angered his aggressor further.

"Does it hurt?" the man hissed, "Hm? Does it?"

"N-no!" he spat, and droplets of red spattered. His answer was quickly followed by another cry of pain as the whip met ravaged skin once more.

"Does it hurt? Tell me!"

"No! It doesn't!"

"Then why are you crying out? Why are you moaning pathetically?"

The lashes grew and grew in strength; the boy's head swam in paralyzing pain and disorientation. He began to audibly gasp without control as each lash met its mark. When the whip paused in its descent for a moment, his previously rigid body went limp and he involuntarily let out a sob.

"It doesn't hurt, does it?" the voice whispered now in his ear, and he felt the whip slithering in the bloody muck on his back. The searing white pain shot up tenfold.

Eyes tightly shut, he shook his head.

"No?" the whip was raised high and then it struck unforgivingly, "How about now?"

"No!" he sobbed earnestly now; he had no energy for tears and his cries came dry and rough, "No, please!"

"Then why do you weep with pain? TELL ME IF IT HURTS!"

"YES!" he howled in agony, his body racking violently against his chains as the whip lashed out again and again, "YES, DAMN IT!"

That did not satisfy the sadistic man, who roared in rage; his flogs now came harsher than ever.

"You worthless filth! When will you learn to stop feeling the pain?! This will continue until you learn to control yourself, you disgusting imbecile! CONTROL YOURSELF!"

_Three months later_

The sound of the whip sounded customary to his ears, almost soothing. The lash lapped hungrily at his flesh: the filth, the battered skin, the blood. But the scorching pain, once unthinkable, simply pooled into silence within his stomach. He stared ahead with an empty expression and unfocused eyes. No effort was required: he simply let the chains support him and waited limply and quietly for it to end.

"Does it hurt?" a smooth voice murmured into his ear, "Hm?"

A humorless smile stretched his gaunt features and his eyelids fell shut in silent agony.

"No."

_Yes_, he thought, _it hurts so much I want to rip out my insides. But I've learned how to control it._

And he knew, then, where his captor's failure lay. He had come to learn that making himself believe a false denial was not the solution. His salvation came with the realization that he must _accept_ the pain, and it gave him all of the patience and strength he needed to pull through.

_Ten years later_

The therapist sat across from him; a petite middle aged woman who, though not beautiful, was pleasant to look at.

"Mr. Ivanov," she began, and her warm eyes drew him in, "The first step to recovery is to admit your experiences."

Yuri stared at her for a moment, and then shifted slightly.

"I don't have a problem with admitting anything."

"Then tell me," she whispered, leaning forward on the desk, "What you have been through. Does it hurt?"

He drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes were pooled with beautiful concern and kindness. Yuri could imagine himself, at twenty six, feeling the touch of a mother's love for the first time. His heart beat erratically.

Her hand reached forward and grasped his tightly, warmly. It was calloused.

"Yes, it does," he said shakily, voice diminished as though he was sharing a dark secret.

She looked pleasantly surprised. Both of his hands now grasped desperately at hers.

"It does what, dear?" she whispered, and he could feel her channeling strength and courage through her touch, to him.

Yuri looked up. He smiled even as tears filled his eyes.

"Yes, it does hurt."

**YURIYURIYURI **

**Notes**: I'm a sucker for writing depressing things. I hope it didn't depress you too much! Also, just to clarify: the 'hurt' in the beginning section refers to physical pain, and the 'hurt' the therapist is talking about is psychological and emotional scarring. Yuri understands this much.

Thank you for reading. Please leave me a review with your thoughts!


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